


Stiletto Steel

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Oral Sex, Shoe Kink, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brick about swallows her teeth when she first sees them. Burning red, so bright they sear her eyes, catching her attention even coyly hidden in their tissue-paper prison. Just a peep of toe, glossy-sweet as a poisoned apple. Brick’s hands shake as she inspects them, looking for size-- and relief makes her weak in the knees, turns her bones to caramel as she realizes they will <i>fit</i>, they’ll fit <i>Jane</i>. A molded curve meant to embrace the foot, lined with some black satiny material to cradle her lover. Perfect gift, so damn perfect it’s got to be written in the stars somewhere, or foretold in the rattle of the scry-bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiletto Steel

Brick about swallows her teeth when she first sees them. Burning red, so bright they sear her eyes, catching her attention even coyly hidden in their tissue-paper prison. Just a peep of toe, glossy-sweet as a poisoned apple. Brick’s hands shake as she inspects them, looking for size-- and relief makes her weak in the knees, turns her bones to caramel as she realizes they will _fit_ , they’ll fit _Jane_. A molded curve meant to embrace the foot, lined with some black satiny material to cradle her lover. Perfect gift, so damn perfect it’s got to be written in the stars somewhere, or foretold in the rattle of the scry-bones.

Because Jane loves bright, bold, sharp-- red’s her lucky color, and she coos whenever Brick finds something hot and perfect. Like chili flakes and paprika, or balsamic vinegar suspended in lemon oil. Cinnamon candies and spiced cakes, bright-sweet on the tongue. She dresses, eats, flaunts like a prewar model, like the bombs never fell and she’s a ‘bombshell’ in all the dangerous meanings of the word.

(Brick always smells like gunpowder and dirt, grounded. But Jane is sharp, high, exhilarating as the first punch in a fistfight, lingering as a split lip.)

Once, bored and cranky, Brick flipped through a prewar book. Not that she was real interested in reading, but the pictures caught her eye. Claimed that some of the most dangerous animals were bright-colored, like warnings they weren’t to be messed with, so don’t even try-- poisonous, maybe venomous, but Brick can’t remember the difference. Like exotic snakes with glittering scales, or toxic butterflies and velvet ants. Even them big cats, spotted leopards and orange and black striped tigers, colors and patterns so bright even when they hide in plain sight.

Jane’s sharp and beautiful, can cut with a look and an arch of her brow. Rub salt in it with a dismissive laugh.

This shoe is _perfect_ for her, scarlet and stiletto-heeled. Brilliant patent leather glassy in the light, smooth to the touch. A steel core to that tapered heel; could puncture skin if Jane bore down with it.

Brick sets Eugene aside to pick up the shoe box, dark and dusty in the shadowed corner of this long-dead store. Exchanges the plain crumpled tissue paper for something a little prettier, a sheet of brilliant white sprinkled with tiny silvery stars that she finds behind the register. Silly bit of indulgence, maybe, when she’s sure the shoes alone will make Jane swoon, but Brick likes indulging her girlfriend. Even finds a bit of red ribbon to tie around the box, though it take her two tries to make the bow neat and even.

Brick packs it gentle in her backpack, ignoring Donovan’s teasing and thinking of Jane. Picks up Eugene and nestles the minigun in the curve of her arm, solid and comforting-- but even Eugene doesn’t fit as warm and lovely as Jane does.

The shoes are perfect for her.

* * *

 

They kiss their hellos in Megaton, limbs tangled and Brick stroking her long dark hair, thumb tracing the bumps and curves of the thick braid. Jane’s beautiful, always beautiful, fine-boned and silk-skinned, some kind of radiant no matter the grime or blood plastered on her and her armor. Downright divine like this, wearing a clean button-up shirt that dangles too long past her wrists and waist, tight jeans and an effortless sex appeal that Brick both envies and desires. Brick kisses her ear, her jaw, her cheek-- but Jane stands on dainty tip-toe to press lips to mouth, a butterfly-light kiss before she steps back. Leaves a lingering hint of clove and dark mint, warm and cool at the same time.

“I got you a present,” Brick blurts, heart a hammer in her chest, like to break the cage of her ribs.

“Oh?” Jane tilts her head, bangs shifting patterns. Hypnotic, like the twilight sparkle in her eyes. “Is it something you can show me in public?”

“Probably. But I’d rather show you in private, if that’s alright?” Sweaty palms and dry mouth, like she’s gangly fourteen all over again.

But when Jane slips her hand in the crook of Brick’s arm, hip bumping gentle against her thigh-- Brick loses none of the gangliness, but regains her confidence. Jane wants her too.

Brick dips her mouth to Jane’s ear, splaying her fingers over Jane’s and squeezing. Words still come out powder-dry, but practiced. “I’d like to gift it to you.”

Jane’s brow lifts at the words, tilting her head as if to let them wash through her ears, but she recognizes the ritual. “Well,” she says, voice low and sultry, “let’s get home then.”

They let Dogmeat loose to frolic with the Megaton children and Jane perches on the edge of the little kitchen table, knees tucked and shadow falling across Brick’s cheek as Brick retrieves that precious cardboard box. Brick does not bother trying to hide her tremor as she kneels before Jane, hands raised in offering and supplication, black box in her hands. Jane unties the ribbon, letting the box sit in Brick’s hands as the silky ties fall and dangle down Brick’s forearms. The ticklish whisper of the ribbons on her skin provides a soft contrast to the hard floor beneath her knees-- though Brick would kneel on gravel for her lady, if Jane so desired.

Jane lifts the lid and sets it beside her on the table, and Brick watches her eyes, her mouth, her nose-- sensitive for the slightest flare or blush of shock as Jane starts parting the tissue paper. A rustle, and Jane’s mouth parts in surprised delight. “Brick! These are lovely!”

She cradles one in her hand, thumb tracing up the spike and the toes resting on the pulse of her wrist. It looks even better than it did in the shop, oleander-bright and glossy, bringing out all the peach and summer-gold tones of her skin.

“Not just a present to you. Present to me-- if you wear them?”

Jane cocks her head, lip bitten between her teeth-- adds redness, plumps her mouth and Brick wants to swell it with kisses. “Just wear them?” Her eyes shimmer dark, all the colors of midnight. Promise and teasing in equal parts.

“If you want to….” Brick tilts her head forward, resting her hands on Jane’s knee and slow, careful, like kneeling in hallowed space, she touches her knees to the ground before Jane. Arms up like prayer, broad shoulders loose for Jane’s pleasure.

“Want me to boss you around tonight?”

“Yes.” The confession falls dusty from her mouth, Brick already losing herself in the scent of Jane’s perfume and the heady blood-pulse in her ears.

“Fine, darling.” Jane shifts her knees to the side and slides off the table, away from Brick’s hands. Lingers her fingers on the back of Brick’s neck, smooth nails slicing lines across the skin. “I’m going upstairs to change. Don’t move.”

Brick waits with her head down, eyes closed. Listening to the mechanical whirr of Wadsworth in the spare room, to the low electric hum of the refrigerator. Trying to catch the whisper of fabric on flesh as Jane undresses, dresses, whatever mystique she’s cultivating around herself. Brick loves watching Jane prepare for a date, the mystery as she lines her eyes or smoothes powder over her features. Beautiful with or without makeup, but the cosmetics add a sort of armor, a polished brilliance that suits Jane as much as Jane’s combat boots and worn leather, the way she ghosts out of view with a Stealth Boy and leaves flower-bursts of gory brain in her wake.

Brick tries counting breaths first. One breath, two-- wonders if Jane’s going to brush her hair out in a dark river and let it hang loose down her back. Three breaths, four-- wonders if Jane will wear the red tonight, her lucky-color lipstick, or that opalescent black that shimmers like an oil-slick and leaves bruise-colored kisses on Brick’s neck. Five breaths, six-- and Brick stops counting breaths, her heart an uneven metronome as there is only the anticipation.

Jane is always worth waiting for.

“You may watch me walk down the stairs,” Jane says, soft little voice that carries in this still house. Brick does not move her hands from the table, just turns her torso so she can see Jane. Jane stands at the top of the flight in those heels and nothing else, hand on the railing and body angled as if she practiced posing for days. Brick wouldn’t put it past her, the way her glitter-sharp mind weighs all possibilities. Never cutting a single path, but ensuring all roads lead to victory.

Jane’s hips are canted to the side, lets Brick see the tender inner curve of her thigh and the fine hairs covering her sex. Brick lingers, starting from the top-- Jane’s beautiful, a whole sensory banquet. Something to savor rather than devour in one quick glance.

Jane’s brushed her hair out smooth, parted it straight and simple down the middle. It hangs loose, rippling with its own weight, and skimming soft over the edge of her hips. A touch of powder or cream to smooth her complexion; makes her shimmer unreal and ethereal, like a goddess in flesh. Someone to worship and obey. When she tilts her head, Brick thinks she catches a glitter of gold about her eyes, lids lined with sparkle. Simple pearl drop earrings glow against the black of her hair, like mermaid’s tears on a midnight sea. And her lips-- Brick loves that red, that boldness, the carmine that’s like roses and silk flowers and that old _chongsam_ that Brick gave Jane last month after they laid on the roof and counted stars and Jane traced out the contours of the rabbit in the moon. Brown-tipped breasts small and perfect, soft belly and thighs. Slim legs made even longer in those heels that emphasize the curve of her calf and the taut line of muscle.

Every step’s a strut as she sways down the stairs, all grace and control as she flirts her eyes in Brick’s direction, even her small smile made vibrant with the power of that lipstick. Only her grip on the railing and the corded tension in her wrist betrays that not all the sway is intentional. She walks a deliberate line towards Brick, toes-first and letting those stilettos click across the metal floor. Jane can be stealth-quiet and dangerous when she wants to be, but there’s assurance in this deliberated loudness too-- so dangerous, so in control that she does not _have_ to be quiet. Hiding is for those with fear.

“How do I look?” Less a question, more a demand as Jane crosses one leg in front of the other, toes out and knee bent. Hips and breasts at angles to one another, both cast in silhouette.

The words come free and easy from Brick’s mouth, like a midnight prayer. “Beautiful.” Brick admires the freckle on Jane’s breast, her long-tipped nails. “Mistress.” Brick worships at the gold lining Jane’s eyes, the pearls gleaming at her ears. “Goddess.” Those red shoes and red lips already make her think of the promise of red in other places, the feel of nails on her scalp and teeth on her neck. “Amazing.” Each word dropped like beads in a rosary.

“I think you need to worship me, then.” Jane leans forward, breasts spilling forward and that heady perfume around her-- clove and dark mint, top notes faded to something warmer. Cinnamon perhaps? Or simply the blood rushing everywhere, making Brick’s nose tingle with spices it cannot smell. She catches a hand under Brick’s chin, nudges up and Brick rises like a snake before the charmer. “Follow me upstairs.”

Brick lingers a few appreciative steps, Jane’s shadow cast long and dancing over Brick’s form. Brick moves through that ephemeral space where she can just catch Jane’s perfume, rest her hand on the railing and trail her fingers through the ghost-warmth of Jane’s palm. Also lets her properly admire Jane, the gossamer sway of her hair and the shift of her hips. Stilettos still clicking up each step as Jane bears down with all her weight.

Jane set a red scarf over the lamp in her room, dimming the light to something warm and exotic. Little candles lit and set about, small cupped things like offerings on an ancient altar. Scattered on her desk and cabinet, setting their shadows all about them in flickers and dancing penumbra. Jane sits back on her bed, springs creaking as she spreads her knees, hand splayed in front to shield her intimate parts from view.

“Take off your armor. You may leave your shirt and pants on,” Jane says, and just because it’s nectar-sweet doesn’t mean it’s not a command. Her fingers drum a slow beat across the bedspread, muffled on the blanket.

Brick’s hands are on auto-pilot, too entranced to bother making it a show. Reaches behind her to unbuckle her straps, shrugs off the pads and chestplate. Sets it down in neat array, more because of long habit and the need to change quickly in the field rather than any real attempt at tidiness. Feels a world apart from Jane, more exposed than she has any right to be in front of her already-nude girlfriend. Jane is _beautiful_ ; Brick has only her pants with grit still clinging to the hem and a sweat-stained shirt.

But Jane coos anyway, teeth flashing like she intends to devour her whole. “Worship me, baby. Please me.” Light and shadow across her face, hair spilling across her breasts and she is all gold and glitter, dark and sweet-- Brick falls to her knees again, because what else can she do? Cups a hand under Jane’s foot, the flat portion of the toes fitting on Brick’s palm as her fingers curve under the sole, Brick’s other hand resting on the fine bones of Jane’s ankle. Brick kisses the jut of bone there, pressing her lips in petal-soft murmurs as she whispers her devotion across Jane’s skin.

“I love you,” through parted lips, at the swell below the calf. “Beautiful,” into the crevice behind the knee, the soft join of calf and thigh. “I’m yours.” An endless motif, fugue-state of desire and giddiness as the hard sole slides smooth over her skin, Jane pushing as if she can feel Brick’s blood drum hot. Jane chuckles angel-soft, bending her other leg to rest her toes on Brick’s shoulder, angling the heel so it dimples Brick’s chest.

Brick accepts the pain, folds it in, makes it part of herself-- such a small thing really, after the dull weight of carrying her minigun, after the hard hit of asphalt when throwing herself aside to avoid a mutant’s sledgehammer. Brick’s endured so much worse for so much less gain. Marking new sites for Reilly’s geomapping doesn’t give her the same thrill of discovery when she maps Jane’s body, traces new routes and paths with the walk of her fingers on that soft skin. Revisiting favored spots, like the translucent-fine skin at the fold of her groin where the veins thread blue beneath the surface, discovering new ones that make Jane exhale that delicious sigh, her eyes fluttering as she tilts back. Naked, beautiful, less an offering and more a gift. And Brick shows her gratitude with more kisses, more touches, rubbing a callused finger down the fine little straps of the stilettos, the ankle-collar where Jane bound it around her limb.

“More on my feet, darling. Show me how much you love seeing me wear your present.”

So Brick kisses her toes, the cool shine of the shoe slick beneath her lips. Trails her lips up, to that exposed top of Jane’s foot, lets her tongue out to taste the clean lines of the metatarsals. Jane wriggles her foot, tiny motion that might almost be missed except for the dig of her heel on Brick’s palm. Tiny movements, big results-- she’s always been good with subtlety, with doing no more than the minimum to achieve the desired result.

But when she chooses to be lush and giving, oh-- Jane can give so much. Twists her foot from Brick’s grasp and hooks her knees over Brick’s shoulders, heels drumming on Brick’s back as she pulls her in. Not for sex, no-- though Brick can smell the heat and musk of her, cloves and sex and that warm spice she still can’t figure if it’s cinnamon or not-- but to run her hands through Brick’s hair, a tight fist over the scalp and trailing the thin slice of her nails down Brick’s ear. Sensation, not hurt, even when the thumb pinches in on the tender flesh of the earlobe. Jane releases, then tightens her thighs-- god, she could choke Brick right now and Brick would count it a good death. Heart in her throat and dizzy with lust, with sex, with the dancing shadows all around.

“Love the way you look between my legs,” Jane murmurs, thumb tracing whorls and lines through Brick’s hair, tickling the bristled edges of Brick’s haircut with her fingertips. “Kneeling like that’s a good look for you. Now please me. Use your tongue.”

Brick wouldn’t talk back even if she could, mouth and tongue too busy following Jane’s command. Kisses soft and slow over the fleshy pad of Jane’s mons, nose rustling against her lover’s pubic hair. She brings her hands up to brace upon Jane’s thighs, thumbs parting her cleft so Brick can lap at the gathered slickness. Jane’s sweet clit makes a tempting target, all puffy and swollen with desire, but Brick’s played this game before-- and Jane always wants a little more foreplay, a little more gentle before grabbing in direct. Brick’s blunt as her nickname, but she can do gentle for Jane.

So Brick kisses, nuzzles, sprinkles her devotion over Jane’s thighs and the crease of her body as much as her outer lips, waiting for the hitch of Jane’s hips and the earnest “oh, come _on_!” before wrapping her mouth over Jane’s clit and sucking hard, bringing Jane to break and crash in waves with those dainty, painful stilettos beating a tattoo over Brick’s shoulders.

When Jane shudders and collapses back, Brick looks up with wet lips and asks, “Want some more?”

“Good, yes… fingers now?” Jane lolls her head to the side, a sweat-stuck strand of hair on her forehead. Less immaculate doll now, but still closer to divine than anything Brick has ever seen. Jane reaches over her head to pull a pillow beneath her shoulders, wriggling in with expected ease. All graceful indolence, like she may well just lie there for hours until she gets her fill. “Do you need a cushion for your knees?”

And Brick might not be able to give _hours_ , even with a pillow to ease the ache, but she’ll give the best she can. “Yes please.”

Jane sits up in one fluid motion, twisting to pluck a thin green pad. Stuffing worn flat, tasseled edges frayed-- still Brick’s favorite, in a hunter-green a shade darker than her Ranger armor. Jane passes it to Brick and Brick settles it under her knees, squirming to test its give. Perfect.

Brick kisses Jane’s thighs, trailing her middle finger through the moisture gathered at her cleft. Rubs soft over the clit, little more than a brushing glance before going back down and slipping it inside. Jane’s wet, slippery and silky to the touch, with no resistance as Brick curls her finger in a beckoning motion, searching for that bundle of nerves that make her moan so sweet…

And Jane does, a sigh like milk and honey as she clenches a fist in the covers, her other hand over her mouth as if to swallow back the sound. Her hand smears over the lipstick, leaves a splash of color trailing off her mouth like she’s been eating fresh berries.

Brick smiles, slipping her ring finger-- funny name, since she wears no rings anyway-- beside the middle finger. She likes working with these two fingers; gives her more power, more lift as she rubs against Jane’s inner walls, leaning forward to lick the clit and feeling Jane’s thighs close about her neck and ears, something like smothering except that Brick loves her so much, she could be enveloped in Jane’s body and stay intoxicated.

“Oh… yes, that’s it,” Jane murmurs, throaty encouragement turning to high gasps. A textured symphony of sighs and moans, more than enough to cover up Wadsworth’s distant whirr and the humming of the electric lights. Makes the whole world shrink to just them in this red-lit bedroom turned temple, the sheets in rippling folds under Jane’s clenched fists. “Give me more, more baby. I can take it.”

Another finger then-- the littlest one, pinky sliding gentle alongside its fellows. A tiny stretch, some resistance as Brick tries a small thrust, but even that goes away as Brick works patient circles of her mouth and tongue, with a throb of her fingers as Jane sighs into another orgasm, body pulsing around Brick’s fingers and heels clicking on the floor as Jane rolls into a final peak. Leaves Brick’s mouth tingling, sweet and tangy with her girlfriend’s taste.

“You are such a good girl, so good to me,” Jane breathes, still not relinquishing a bit of control as she pants between words. She touches Brick’s hand, fingers curled over the back of Brick’s wrist and nails digging curved lines on Brick’s skin. “How many fingers is that now?”

“Three.” Brick turns her head aside to kiss Jane’s fingertips, soft flicks of her tongue after each dotted peck. “Want more?”

Jane laughs like chimes, clicking her teeth shut with a playful growl. “Yes. I order you to give me more, baby. As many as I can take.”

How can she disobey?

Brick moves the last finger-- first finger, depending on which way you count-- in with the others, bundling together in a curve that fits the contours of Jane’s body. Slowly easing up to her knuckles, Jane’s body clamped tight as Brick tries splaying her fingers in an effort to give Jane some of the fullness she craves. Thinks about her thumb, tucking that in, if she can use her whole hand-- kisses Jane’s lips again, looking over the swell of her body to ask, “That’s four now. Do you still want…?”

“ _Yes,”_ Jane hisses, eyes flashing mock indignation, crackling like heat-lightning. “I want you to please me. Fill me up.” She moves her hips, body rocking into a rhythm between prayer and mantra. “Sate me.” A pause, a moment’s break in the pace of their rutting. “There’s lube on the floor, between the desk and the bed.”

And Brick doesn’t have a fancy vault-education, doesn’t know what ‘sate’ means, but she knows how to fuck and how to give Jane a damn good orgasm. So she pulls her fingers out with a kiss of apology and squirts the lube all over her hand. Clear and slick, texture a little more slippery than Jane’s natural lubrication, but cool-- Brick warms it up with her own friction and body heat, rubbing it all over her hands before settling back between Jane’s legs. Sliding her fingers back in goes more smoothly this second time, though Brick’s careful not to rush. Still goes one at a time, sliding in and curling in beckoning, in fulfilment, now squeezing her four fingers together--or perhaps being squeezed by Jane-- as she slips her thumb in the triangle tuck of her hand and glides forward.

The knuckles are where Brick halts, where Jane exhales frustration and they sigh together. Brick twists her hand, trying to match the stretch of Jane’s body-- not to force anything but to provide room to ease up. Rubs slow circles over Jane’s clit with her other hand as Jane bites her lip, lipstick on her teeth.

“How do you feel?” Brick asks, looking up to admire the way the way Jane’s eyelashes flutter shadows on her cheeks.

“Good. I want you to fill me up, baby.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” and Brick kisses Jane’s hand, wishes she could kiss her mouth and smear lipstick all over, take Jane’s markings and wear them like garlands, but finally Jane’s body relaxes and Brick moves her hand in one long dip into her lover’s body. Jane’s warm, welcoming, accepting-- and for all the strength in Brick’s arm, the muscles of her shoulders and the stark tendons around her neck, _this_ feels powerful, her whole hand inside Jane’s body and Jane in sweet contractions all around.

For all the rough and tumble Brick can do, the blood-song in her ears during combat or the gunpowder lingering on her skin like cologne, she likes being gentle with Jane, when Jane allows. So it’s small motions only, a subtle rock of her hand and finger pads sliding against the hard plane of Jane’s pubic bone. Wrist disappearing in Jane’s body, unreal in the best way, like a merge between dream and waking. Jane’s so soft, so warm-- so strong, the smallest movements amplified by how much Jane’s taken in.

Brick worships with tongue, with lips, with warm breath and cool flicks of her tongue, lube mixing with Jane’s fluids. Jane’s breath hitches, rising in pitch-- voice breaks as she _comes_ , long, liquid, languid, body in rippling waves along Brick’s arm. So tight that Brick couldn’t escape even if she wanted to, hand trapped by the pleasured clamping of Jane’s body and slick smeared all over her forearm.

Brick stares up at Jane, flushed and proud, sweat sticking to the back of her neck and the air thick with musk and perfume.

“More?” Brick asks.

“Enough for now.” Jane lets out a moan, something between a gasp and a sigh as Brick slides her hand out. Much easier out than in, though Brick goes just as slow. Jane runs her tongue over her teeth, wiping away the stray specks of lipstick. “Brick, do you want me to go down on you, or…?”

“Nah. Just… mark me?” Brick tugs at the collar of her shirt, cheeks sticky with come and giving a crooked grin. “I’d like to be marked a little. Lipstick, nails, teeth.”

“Face too?”

“Not unless it’s gonna wash off.”

“I can do that.” Jane crooks her finger, cocking an eyebrow. “C’mere then.”

Brick crawls on the bed beside her, mattress dipping beneath their shared weight as Jane flips over to straddle Brick’s hips. Brick opens her mouth to protest, worried about Jane after their recent fisting, but Jane smothers her with a kiss. Jane slips her tongue in, tasting herself off Brick’s tongue before drawing back with Brick’s lower lip between her teeth.

“Hands down. I’m not going to bind you, but I want you to hold on to these heels. Keep touching the stilettos, and don’t move unless I tell you.”

“Yes’m,” Brick says, struggling to keep her face properly respectful instead of the big-ass goofy grin she can feel creeping across it. Doesn’t succeed, judging from Jane’s giggle. But Jane nibbles at her mouth, puckering her lips to press marks all over Brick’s cheek. Settles down lower, nails on the back of Brick’s neck and grazing her teeth on the hollow of Brick’s throat. When Brick shivers, Jane gives a little ghost-laugh, eerie in the shadows.

“I am going to give you a big ol’ love-bite to take back to the Ranger compound,” Jane growls, making good on her word. Harsh teeth, hard suction-- Brick tightens her grip on the heels, ragged-edged nails dig into her palm as she does so. When Jane’s marked Brick to her satisfaction, leaning back to admire her work, Brick still feels the throbbing imprint of her mouth on her.

“Nice. That one’s gonna show above your shirt.” Jane smirks, teeth flashing bright. “Like it. Shows you’re _mine_.”

“Never wanna be anyone else’s,” Brick says, hissing when Jane tugs at her shirt. The fabric feels sticky, scratchy on the back of her neck, sweat and salt all ground together.

Jane lets out a low whistle as she peers down the front of Brick’s shirt. “You’ve got a little bruise, about the size of my finger tip. What do you think…?”

“The _shoes_ ,” Brick blurts out, remembering the hot-painful feel of those stilettos digging into her chest. “Your _shoes_ left a-- holy shit, we gotta try that again. _Ouch!”_ she yelps as Jane nips her ear.

Jane slaps Brick with her fingertips, finishing with a flick on the nose like scolding a disobedient puppy. “Not your turn to boss me around,” she says, tapping Brick’s cheek and failing to keep the smile off her face. Her mock-severity deflates into giggles. “But sure, next time.” She kisses Brick on the lips and they drift into slow and gentle make-outs, Jane twined over Brick and bodies rocking. Jane slides a hand up Brick’s shirt, touching, feeling, soft and feather-light-- with an occasional pinch, hard nail of her thumb digging into the soft skin of Brick’s belly, little bursts of red starring Brick’s torso.

After, Brick finally gets to strip, dropping her gear and pants in a tangled mess on the floor as she collapses on Jane’s bed. Jane goes around the room, holding her hair back as she blows out the candles and flicks off the lamp. She unstraps the shoes, slips them off to sit neat beside the bed. Brick sits up, legs crossed and angling so her hip touches Jane’s back, and ties Jane’s hair into a loose braid. The cool strands tickle against Brick’s fingers, and Brick leans forward to sniff the faded jasmine of Jane’s shampoo. Jane chuckles, rolling her shoulder back and facing Brick. She kisses Brick’s fingers and they fold around one another, cuddling skin to skin and contours mingling in the darkness.

“How do you feel?” Jane asks, tucking her toes over Brick’s ankles and spooning close with a hand over Brick’s belly.

Brick nuzzles back, settles Jane’s hand over her stomach and wriggles her butt snug into the bend of Jane’s body. “Good. Real good.”

“Didn’t mind it was all me telling you what to do…?”

Brick’s turn to laugh now, a belly-rumble that trembles against Jane’s palm. “God, no. I love when you tell me what to do, babe.” Twists her hand into the sheets, still damp with Jane’s arousal. “Thought you were gonna squeeze my hand off, back there.”

“Big bad mercenary can shoot a behemoth in the face, can’t take her girlfriend’s mighty cunt,” Jane whispers, fingers shaping to tickle but Brick’s too fast, plucking her wrist and cackling.

“I’d rather face your cunt than a mutant, any day.”

“I would hope so.”

Teasing and playing in equal measures, Brick nestled against Jane and Jane’s braid coiled on the pillow, they fall asleep.


End file.
